


In Spring

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, First Time, Geralt Grovels, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: Geralt makes things right with Jaskier, as much as he may resist doing so.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 239





	In Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Witcher fic I started, though it is (obviously) not the first one I posted. This was my immediate impulse after finishing the series, though (really, after finishing episode 6).

"What have you done?" 

Geralt looked at his sword, covered in goo and shit, and the dead zeugl in the street, also covered in goo and shit. Much of the street was covered in goo and shit, as was all of Geralt. 

"I've killed the monster that was living in your sewers." Geralt looked about for something to wipe his sword on. Spotting a likely scrap of cloth that had somehow escaped the rain of sewage when his fight with the zeugl had burst aboveground, he reached for it and began to clean his blade. 

"What are you doing?" The voice grew louder, and Geralt looked up. He supposed this was the town's mayor. It looked like the man who'd hired Geralt, but it was hard to tell, as he, too, was covered in goo and shit. 

"Cleaning my sword. And waiting for you to pay me."

"You have made a mess of the town square! And with one week until the spring festival!"

Geralt looked around him. Now that he looked more closely, the dead zeugl _did_ seem to be lying on a stage of sorts. There had been banners strung between the buildings, the shredded remains of one having gone to clean his sword. 

"It does seem a mess," he agreed. 

"And the singer we hired was eaten," the mayor spat. 

At that moment, Geralt's gaze fell on the smashed lute and the hand that clutched it. He swallowed hard. It was not _his_ hand, and it was foolish to even entertain the idea. Some other unlucky idiot had gotten himself eaten. Probably had been trying to write a song about Geralt's fight with the zeugl. That was what the bards Geralt knew would do.

"I don't sing, if you're asking me to replace him." He dropped the scrap of banner and sheathed his sword. He didn't have time for the man's sputtering. "Just give me my payment and I'll be out of your way so you can rebuild."

"But who will help us get this thing off our stage?" 

Geralt turned, seeing the townspeople massing around the square now that the monster was dead. "I'm sure all these fine people would come to the aid of their town in its time of need." He reached out and took the bag of coins held loosely between the mayor's fingers. "Thank you. Best of luck."

He turned back to where he'd left Roach, ignoring the invectives hurled at him by the disgruntled mayor. In his experience, most mayors were disgruntled. Perhaps he would rather have been eaten.

**

Geralt did not have to go far from the village before he reached a stream he could take some semblance of a bath in. He was not completely free of goo and shit, but he'd managed to get some of it off and put on dry clothes. 

At least now, Roach would deign to let him ride, despite her still being upset with him. He had already explained his side of it—Jaskier had gotten on his last nerve and was utterly useless to begin with. Why Roach liked him, Geralt could not begin to understand. 

They reached the next village just before sundown and stopped at the first inn they came to. The sign was broken so he could not read its name, but it would serve his purposes if there was food and drink in it. He arranged room and board for himself and stabled Roach. Let her stew, he decided. She had water and fodder and had been rubbed down. If she wanted to pine after Jaskier, that was her right. 

The inn was small and cramped, but people moved out of Geralt's way, giving him plenty of space, probably because he still smelled of sewer. The woman at the bar passed him his stew and ale without a word; his coin was as good as any other's and it had not been with him long enough to smell. 

His stench afforded him a table all to himself, and Geralt was beginning to think he ought to roll in shit more often when the music started. 

Fuck. 

He began to eat faster before he lost his appetite. At least no one was singing. He could not count the number of caterwauling twits he had had to tune out so he could eat in peace over the past three months. Music without singing was only slightly less nauseating. 

_In spring, my love, the birds and the bees_

Geralt winced as the voice hit his ears. It was Jaskier. Unfathomable. Fate had a cruel sense of humor. 

Geralt wolfed down the rest of his stew, drained his ale and rose. He could just squeeze by; the bard's back would be to him so he wouldn't see him. Then up to his room and he would leave before dawn. Jaskier would never be awake before dawn. 

_Do sing as they tend to the blossoming trees_

Enough admirers packed the room that Geralt fancied he was well camouflaged. However, just as he was near to reaching the stairs, a man rose from his seat, bumping into Geralt and sloshing a full mug of ale down his own front. 

The bard strummed on, oblivious. 

_And when you, my love, blossom, I'm weak in the knees_

The man who had bumped into Geralt narrowed his eyes. "Watch where you're going."

"You watch—" Geralt hissed. He would have to get out of this quickly; he was standing close enough that if he stretched out his arm he could lay his palm on the bard's back, right between his shoulder blades. 

_For my love's blossom's sweeter than the finest honeeey!_

The man dropped his tankard, seized Geralt's shirt, and slammed him into the handrail. People weren't supposed to be able to do that. Damn that distracting bard. Geralt drew back and decked the man square on the jaw, just as Jaskier started up on the second verse. 

_In summer, my love, the hummingbirds sip_

His opponent did not seem content with the dismissal Geralt had given him. He lunged and tackled him, cracking Geralt's head on the hardwood floor. He blinked, dazed. 

_From the flowers that flourish, the blooms that all drip  
With nectar so delectable, I lose all my wits_

"You're that freak, aren't you?" The man was leaning over Geralt. "The witcher?" 

Geralt grimaced and pushed himself off the ground as the man's friends came to their comrade's aid. 

_My love's nectar is sweetest drunk straight from her lips!_

Jaskier's strumming was drowned out by the groans of the men as Geralt punched them. The only problem was that they kept coming back. Fighting the zeugl had tired him enough that some of the men weren't knocked out on the first try. They continued drunkenly swinging at him, sometimes even landing hits. 

After a moment’s hesitation stars exploded in front of his eyes. He dropped to his knees amid a shower of wood fragments. Someone seemed to have broken a bar stool over his head.

His ears were still ringing; he could not tell if the music had stopped. 

Then he saw Jaskier, mouth open to form the next verse, hand paused over the strings of his lute. 

Geralt could neither look away nor say anything. He had known Jaskier was there, but seeing his face sent something twisting in the pit of his stomach. The odds of the floor opening up to swallow him were astronomically low, but he had to hope.

By this time, the barman had realized that his property was being destroyed and hurried over. The men Geralt had been fighting had staggered away in varying levels of consciousness, leaving him lying alone amongst the remains of the broken stool. 

"You. Witcher." He poked Geralt with the toe of his boot. "Get up and get out." 

Geralt sat up, still dazed. "I paid for a night. I'm going to my room." 

He ignored the flustered protests of the barman about damages. Jaskier stepped between them. Geralt had nearly forgotten about him. 

"Allow me," Jaskier said, "to take custody of the witcher. I take full responsibility for his behavior. He's really rather poorly trained."

Geralt opened his mouth to object, but the barman appeared to be listening. 

"Come along, Geralt." Jaskier's tone was clipped, as one speaking to a naughty dog, and Geralt nearly argued with him, before deciding against it. He would still be out of here before dawn. 

**

"I wasn't going to say it," Jaskier said once they were on the stairs. 

"But you're going to."

Jaskier ignored this. "I should like to remind you that _I_ did not come near _you_. _You_ came near _me_."

"I know." If Jaskier was surprised by this, he didn't say anything. "I'm leaving in the morning. You won't have to worry about me anymore." He pushed past Jaskier and mounted the stairs. 

"All right then," Jaskier stated with false cheer. Geralt did not turn to look at him. "Let me know when you go so I can tell the innkeeper. I don't want to get on his bad side. I've made quite a lot the past few days." He shook his money pouch in what Geralt supposed was meant to be an enticing manner. "And I would like to continue making more." 

"Good night, Jaskier." Geralt stalked down the hall toward his room. 

"Geralt?" 

He turned. "Yes?" 

"You smell like shit. Did you know?"

Geralt barely suppressed a growl before slamming the door behind him.

He did not feel any better after having called for a bath. The maid who responded seemed somewhat annoyed, probably because she blamed Geralt for the mess downstairs which she likely had had to clean up, and the water was cold. 

Still, Jaskier had been right—he did still smell like shit. He did not feel entirely better when it was washed off, but it did help not to have to smell himself all the time. 

He lay in the narrow bed and closed his eyes. 

There was strumming and humming coming from the room next door. 

"Shut up," he growled, yanking the thin blanket over his head and rolling over. 

Jaskier went on strumming. 

**

The next morning, Geralt was up before dawn, in the hopes of avoiding Jaskier. The sooner this unplanned and unwanted encounter was behind him, the better.

He dressed quietly, debating leaving his shit-smelling clothes behind, but ultimately decided this had probably been what Jaskier had meant when he'd assured the landlord he would make Geralt behave. He shoved them to the bottom of his pack. He would dispose of them later; he did not like the idea of wasting time to stop and wash them. 

The corridor was deserted when he entered it, and he tiptoed down the stairs, his boots in his hands. He didn't want to track any more goo and shit around the place, nor did he want to alert anyone to his presence. 

He made it to the stableyard. 

"Sneaking out on me?" Jaskier was dressed and fresh-looking as if he'd been up hours. 

"I'm not sneaking." Geralt went into the stables. "I paid last night." 

"That's all well and good for you—" 

"I am trying to leave as quickly as possible so as to inconvenience you at least a little less than you have inconvenienced me." He opened Roach's stall and led her out; she seemed annoyed to have had her rest disturbed, but she would have to accept that.

Jaskier followed, lingering in the patch of weak gray light from the door as Geralt saddled Roach. "And what am I supposed to do if they aren't happy with the sort of friends I keep?" 

"You might have considered that before you said you'd be responsible for me." 

"I was keeping you from getting thrown out. Giving you a bed for the night." 

He was still following, back out into the stableyard. Geralt began strapping his pack on. "And I appreciate it." Being near him was infuriating; just feeling Jaskier's eyes on him made his skin crawl. "If you're looking for a job, there's a village half a day's ride on the eastern road that needs a singer for their spring festival. They might be willing to hire you. Probably more than you'd make here; after a while, they'll be getting tired of you." 

That ought to have been enough to repay any debt that was owed; what more could Jaskier be expecting? 

Indeed, it seemed that it was not Jaskier who was expecting more. When he tried to mount up, Roach trotted forward. Geralt's foot caught in the stirrup and he landed hard on his back in the dirt.

"Geralt, are you all right?" Jaskier did not draw forward, possibly because Geralt had made more than clear how close he wanted Jaskier, but he did sound concerned. As concerned as one can sound from ten feet away. 

"I'm fine." Geralt rolled to his feet. "Roach." 

She gave him what could only be described as a withering look and trotted over to Jaskier. 

He smiled and stroked her snout. "I know, girl, I've missed you, too. But you've got to stay with Geralt. He needs _someone_." 

"Roach. Come on." Geralt did not bother keeping the exasperation from his voice. Even his _horse_? 

She did not turn. Jaskier took the reins, making to lead her back to Geralt, but she did not budge. Geralt could feel his anger threatening to explode from within his chest, but he choked it back down. 

"You want to take him there," he said. "I think—Jaskier, I think Roach wants us to show you where this village is." 

"I'm sure I can get there on my own. Half a day east—well, probably a full day for me—village in need of a bard? Can't miss it." Jaskier was still stroking Roach's nose. "Even I should be able to find it."

Geralt sighed. He was going to regret this. "Maybe it would be better if I went with you. I didn't exactly leave there on the best terms. I wouldn't want them to think I sent you and… take it out on you."

"And aren't they even likelier to think that if I show up with you?" 

"Do you want to have a job or not?" 

Jaskier let out a defeated sigh. "If you say they need a singer…" 

Geralt thought back to the hand clutching the lute. "They definitely need a singer." 

"Let me pack. I wasn't planning to leave today, you know." Jaskier headed back to the inn, casting a suspicious glance back over his shoulder before going inside.

"What did I do?" Geralt asked Roach. She snorted and nudged his shoulder. 

**

When Jaskier emerged, Geralt had almost gotten tired of waiting for him. 

"The landlord thanks me for taking you away," Jaskier informed him, adding his pack to Roach's back. 

"No," Geralt said, stepping forward. "You walk and you carry your own gear." 

Roach whinnied again and danced forward as he went to unstrap Jaskier's pack. 

"Fine," he muttered. "Be like that." 

He stood by like a stable boy, holding the reins for Jaskier to mount up. 

"Thank you, Roach," Jaskier said smugly. Geralt trudged along beside them, feeling like a lackey accompanying a spoiled young lord. He glanced up at Jaskier. He was humming to himself, looking very pleased with the way things had turned out. 

"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" 

Geralt grunted. This was not the sort of comment which required a detailed response, and he ought to have known Jaskier would never allow a pleasant silence. 

"You know, Yennefer is nice, really. She helped me get off the mountain—but you know that, of course—though the portal did make me sick. And then we got nice and drunk."

"I should have left you at the inn." 

"Then you wouldn't have been able to make it up to me by getting me this job." 

"I'm not trying to make it up to you," Geralt muttered. "You're a singer. They need a singer." 

"And what concern is it of yours that they need a singer?" 

"This town's mayor is a highly irritating person. Perhaps I thought you deserved each other."

Jaskier actually looked disappointed at this. At least there were nearly ten minutes of blessed silence before he started to sing.

**

They reached the town close to sunset. It looked very much like it had when Geralt had left it the day before; the townspeople were still engaged in cleaning up, although they didn't appear to have made much progress at all. 

As soon as the mayor saw Geralt, he barreled forward. "You! Get out of here. We want nothing to do with you or your kind." 

"I brought you a singer."

The mayor seemed to notice Jaskier for the first time then; Geralt supposed he did look almost impressive sitting atop Roach with his lute, with Geralt having led him there. He got the strong feeling again of being some sort of servant, though perhaps that was a good thing in this case. They might want nothing to do with _him_ , but they ought to accept Jaskier. 

The mayor looked at him skeptically. 

"He's a good singer," Geralt said. 

"If he comes with you—" 

"Stop! Cease!" Jaskier slid awkwardly from the saddle, still clutching his lute. "You know not of who you speak. Before you stands Geralt of Rivia, the great witcher." 

"They know that, Jaskier. I'll leave." 

Jaskier was not listening. Did he ever listen? He had started playing the song. _The_ song. The song that made him long for the earth to swallow him—or, perhaps preferably, Jaskier. 

It seemed to have a similar effect on the mayor. 

At least, it had some effect on the mayor. 

"You may stay," he told Jaskier. "We do need a singer and you would suit." His gaze pivoted to Geralt. "And you. You can begin by fixing some of the damage you did."

"That's not—" Geralt began, but Jaskier stepped in front of him.

"Of course he'll help." 

Geralt scowled at him once the townspeople had dispersed. Jaskier had been directed to the inn and Geralt was leading Roach after him. 

"You need to learn about a little thing called public relations," Jaskier said. "You relate to the public and they don't run you out of town."

Geralt grunted. He had never minded being run out of town, provided he was ready to leave. He had no reason to stick around here when there was no monster to be gotten rid of. 

"And if you do help them, it would go a long way to raising your reputation. Trust me." 

"Who put you in charge of my reputation?" 

"I did. You didn't seem to be doing anything with it." 

Geralt sighed. How had he gotten himself back in his situation? He was exactly in the same position he'd been in _before_ he'd succeeded in getting rid of Jaskier. 

**

Roach looked surprised when Geralt appeared in the stables that night. 

"I'm bunking with you," he said. "There was only one room, and I let him have it." 

What Geralt didn't mention was that the innkeeper had turned him away. It seemed his reputation preceded him, while he was only happy to extend an invitation to Jaskier to take his last available bed. 

"I'm not worried," he told Roach. "I've slept worse places, and you make good company." 

She snorted. 

Geralt spent an uncomfortable night on a pile of straw, though he never would admit as much. He did not even have to talk to Jaskier all day, he discovered, as their respective tasks in preparing for the spring festival were different. 

Jaskier was practicing with the musicians and Geralt was occupied with some of the men of the village in removing the dead zeugl. It was smelly and unpleasant work, and Geralt would have much rather been on his way, but at least it distracted him from thinking of Jaskier. 

He did not miss having him as a traveling companion. 

Having Jaskier as a traveling companion only meant Jaskier getting in the way, Jaskier attracting the wrong kind of attention, people getting the wrong _idea_ about the nature of their relationship, Jaskier asking for favors that only resulted in more trouble for Geralt. 

The last few months without him had been the most peaceful and quiet ones he'd had since meeting Jaskier. 

He glanced over to where Jaskier sat with the musicians, rehearsing. The bard looked better off without him, too, Geralt decided. He looked happy playing with other musicians. 

Geralt shook his head, pulling his attention away from Jaskier. He'd see the back of him soon. 

The dead zeugl had had two days since its death to ripen in the sun and he soon had no chance to think of anything but the stench. He wanted a bath by the time he was done and he was halfway to the inn before he remembered he didn't have a room to go to.

"Fuck."

"Indeed." Jaskier appeared from nowhere. "You stink. Again."

Geralt sighed. "I'll wash at the well." 

"Yes, I suppose you will." Jaskier was studying him, as though he was debating saying something further. Geralt hoped he wouldn't. He had had quite enough of Jaskier… talking. And standing and looking at him. 

"I'll be off to do that, then." 

"Good." Jaskier stared at him for a moment longer, a moment too long. Geralt wondered what he might have been supposed to say. "See that you do," Jaskier said at last, and turned and went into the inn. 

Geralt's stomach swam at that response and he wondered what business it was of Jaskier's how clean he was.

**

The next few days blended together because they were all the same. After the dead zeugl had been cut up and carried off, Geralt was redirected to rebuilding the stage. Jaskier was still rehearsing with the musicians. He looked… happy…. He was smiling. It was nice to see him smile. 

Geralt knew he had been sad to be sent away; it had been for his own good, even if Jaskier could not see that. So perhaps it was a good thing that he was happy about something that had nothing to do with Geralt. 

That was when Jaskier looked at him. Geralt looked instantly away, feeling his face grow hot. He hated the idea that Jaskier might think he had been staring at him. 

_Had_ he been staring at him? He had certainly been looking a long time. He had not been aware how long. He glanced at him again, to see if Jaskier was still looking. 

He was.

Geralt flicked his gaze away again. 

He was coming to a rather uncomfortable realization. 

He was going to have to talk to Jaskier. 

**

He did the only thing he could reasonably do—he put it off. He washed thoroughly at the well and changed his clothes. He tried to time going in for his meal so he would not meet Jaskier, but Jaskier must have discerned what he was doing, because he met Geralt in the inn yard as he was returning to the stables for the night. 

"Do you have anything to say to me?"

Geralt froze, about to push right by him with a muttered "no," but decided this would be counterproductive. He had vowed he would talk to Jaskier; he would talk to Jaskier. 

"Let's go in here." 

There weren't many people around but he wanted no one to hear this. Not that he knew these people or cared what they thought, but… he had some idea of what might be said in this conversation and he wanted it to be as private as possible. Especially if they would later need to pretend it had never occurred. 

Roach whinnied in greeting when they entered. 

"No eavesdropping," Geralt told her pointedly. He led Jaskier to where he slept and sat down. "Well?" 

"I think you should be the one to start." 

Geralt opened his mouth to protest, but sighed and sat back against the hay bale. 

"I'm sorry." 

Jaskier was still watching him warily. That was what he hated the most; Jaskier looked as though he didn't trust him. 

Well, why should he? Geralt had done nothing to be worthy of his trust.

"You want more than that," he said slowly.

"I do if you want to say it. But if it's going to be like that, then I'll just go to bed." 

Jaskier turned and left. The shutting of the stable door sounded very final.

He considered going after him but could not seem to make his legs work.

**

They did not speak of it. Days passed with them working on their respective tasks and they barely spoke at all. Geralt did not even know why he was still there. Maybe he thought he would get work if this town was menaced by another monster, if he could point out to them that he had come back to clean up after himself. 

But if they were ever menaced by another monster, surely they'd be desperate enough not to wait for another witcher to happen by; they would have to hire him.

Which meant he was staying for one reason and one reason only.

He really would have to talk to him.

"We're going to talk again," he told Jaskier when he appeared in the common room after a grueling day of setting up the stage. The festival would be the next evening, and Geralt did not expect to remain in town for any longer than he needed to repay his debt to society. 

"Oh, are we?"

"Yes." Geralt sighed. He supposed he could not blame Jaskier for being skeptical. He probably deserved it. "Properly this time." 

Jaskier narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "We can go to my room."

Jaskier's bed was definitely big enough for two. Geralt hated that this was the first thing he noticed. The room could have accommodated him nicely; still he could not blame Jaskier for being unwilling to share.

"Well." Jaskier stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed over his chest.

Geralt swallowed hard. He had not expected such a defensive posture from Jaskier, though he should have. "I'm sorry for what I said to you back there." Jaskier was still regarding him skeptically, and Geralt realized how little this differed from his first failed apology in the stables. 

He sighed and went to the window, hands in his hair. "Jaskier. You drive me to the edge of madness."

"Only to the edge?" 

Geralt let out a strained breath that might have been half a laugh. "Past it, maybe." He stared out the window at the stage, now adorned with banners and awaiting the next evening's performance. "Do you know why I said those things to you?" 

"Because you're an unsociable brute?" 

Geralt winced. "Because I…." Jaskier was looking at him expectantly. "Because I could not live with myself if something happened to you because of me." 

"That is a silly way of saying that." 

"I think so, too. That's what this whole apology is about." Geralt turned back to the window. 

"You could say a little more," Jaskier prompted. "About the whole not-being-able-to-live-with-yourself." 

Geralt clenched his jaw, then relaxed it. "If you stick around with me, you may come to a sticky end." 

"I have realized this," Jaskier said quietly. "Or have you forgotten what happened when we first met?" 

Geralt certainly hadn't. It was no coincidence that he'd immediately started trying—and failing—to be rid of Jaskier. Part of the problem was that he'd grown ever more attracted to him. 

"And the djinn incident?" 

"I haven't forgotten that, either, believe me." 

"I mean, I certainly do not have a death wish. I would like to go on, filling the world with music, indefinitely. But if I weren't at least prepared for the possibility, I would have run screaming in the opposite direction the second time we met. At least give me the chance to make my own decisions." 

"I'm sorry." It was trite, but if he really meant it this time, it ought to be all right to say.

"Good." Jaskier had a satisfied smirk. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all." 

**

Geralt didn't know what he'd expected to happen next. He had gone back to his bed in the stables unsure if he regretted their conversation. In fact, he'd lain awake much of the night wondering if he should be packing to leave or if he should have kissed Jaskier. 

He was reasonably certain Jaskier would have wanted him to kiss him, or at least, that he had at some point. That was, in large part, what had scared Geralt off. He could not abide getting _involved_ with Jaskier and then what? 

His gaze was still drawn to him, though, and Jaskier was watching him, too, in a way that invariably made Geralt turn away. The pressure in his chest was too great for him to take. 

"Geralt." 

He nearly jumped at Jaskier's approach. Something had to be wrong for him not to have noticed him. 

"I know you're not one for parties, but if you _do_ want to come tonight, you can freshen up in my room. If you like." 

Jaskier gave him a pointed look and turned back to the other musicians before Geralt could respond. He let out the breath he had been holding in. If this was… an invitation… well, he didn't know if he ought to accept. Or if Jaskier was truly asking. 

He climbed the stairs to Jaskier's room with a knot in his stomach, but Jaskier wasn't there. It seemed a rendezvous wasn't in the offing. 

Then his eyes fell on the note on the table. 

All it said was _Wash yourself well, witcher_. Heat pooled in his groin. There was only one reason Jaskier would insist on this. 

He made his way to the still-warm tub and shed his clothes for his first real bath in ages. He happily followed Jaskier's advice, scrubbing away every last remainder of zeugel guts.

**

The music had already started by the time Geralt had bathed to his own satisfaction, dried his hair, and dressed in the nicest and least-wrinkled outfit he possessed. It was black, naturally, somewhat at odds with the bright colors the villagers appeared to favor; it wasn't really a spring color, but that was not what Geralt cared about.

Jaskier had already begun playing when Geralt made his appearance, but he could feel eyes following him as he made his way to the refreshment table. At least he hadn't missed the main part of Jaskier's performance, an expressive spring ballad of local origin that far outstripped, in Geralt's opinion, what he had been singing in that awful inn. 

He only sipped lightly at his drink, conscious that he was busy watching Jaskier. And Jaskier knew it. 

He wanted Jaskier to know it, he concluded. 

If they were going to begin again on the right foot, he wanted his intentions to be completely unambiguous. He wanted Jaskier to know how he couldn't look away from his fingers on his lute and wonder what they would be like playing another instrument entirely. 

He wanted Jaskier to know all of this, and one day soon, he might be able to tell him in explicit detail, with words. For tonight, though, he would have to settle for Jaskier knowing with absolute certainty that they both wanted this evening to end the exact same way. 

He waited for Jaskier to finish and come down. 

"Well done," he said. 

"It wasn't exactly musically challenging." Jaskier accepted the proffered drink. "Very probably composed by some favorite son centuries ago. I was, er, discouraged from enlivening it at the first rehearsal and so I have stuck to what they are paying me to do."

"I'm sure your gifts are most appreciated elsewhere." 

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" 

Geralt grunted. Then he remembered what he was trying to do. Be unambiguous. "Yes. Do you want to dance?" 

Jaskier scanned the crowd. "I don't see anyone who could be looking for a partner."

Geralt scowled. Was Jaskier playing hard to get, or was he really that poor at making himself understood? 

He sighed. Did he even have to ask himself that?

"I am." 

Jaskier's eyes widened; Geralt could see it all play out on his face—disbelief, confusion, hope. Just as quickly as it had come, it had settled into stubborn confidence. 

"Well, then," he said, extending his hand. "Let's get on with it, then." 

Geralt smiled, just the faintest quirk of his lips to let Jaskier know he meant it. This was beyond anything he'd ever dreamed—because he'd never even let himself dream about it. Although he supposed if he had ever let himself dream about it, he probably would have been leading. 

Instead, he followed Jaskier through the steps which was probably a good thing, because Geralt knew nothing about this sort of dancing. Every villager seemed to know exactly what to do, and so, for that matter, did Jaskier. Geralt could only follow along, trying not to trip him up.

And, of course, savoring the feeling of having Jaskier in his arms, being able to touch him in a more-or-less sanctioned way. 

And Jaskier seemed to enjoy touching him, too, if the way his hands lingered was any indication. It felt good, and Geralt let himself enjoy it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let someone touch him and enjoyed it, and now, with Jaskier's hands firmly on his back, leading him through the steps, his knees threatened to go weak. That _certainly_ wasn't supposed to happen. 

But, Geralt realized, a lot of things that weren't supposed to happen had been happening lately. Perhaps he ought to let them. 

At this point, the ultimate trajectory of this evening seemed rather inevitable, and Geralt had no interest in stopping it. 

"How long do you plan to do this?" he murmured in Jaskier's ear after the end of their third dance. 

"I could go for a drink now." His arm went through Geralt's as though he'd always walked around with Jaskier on his arm. 

They drank and danced some more, and Geralt found himself losing track of time. That wasn't supposed to happen either, he reminded himself, and then he decided to stop thinking that.

Perhaps it _was_ supposed to happen. Why else might he have met Jaskier by chance at that inn, right after happening into a situation where Jaskier would actually be of some use? 

There were finer points he was disinclined to question; he would only be glad it had happened. 

"I think," Jaskier said, "that it may be time to turn in." He was pressed to Geralt's chest and they were dancing slowly, barely moving, a slow shuffle. They were one of just three couples still dancing and the musicians looked ready to leave off. "We could keep dancing, mind you, but I think that fiddler is going to stab me with his bow." 

"I have absolutely no need to keep dancing," he muttered into Jaskier's hair. "At least, not this kind of dancing."

Jaskier had pulled him off the floor before the song had ended.

**

They didn't stop or speak as they climbed the stairs to Jaskier's room. It was like torture, having to hold out this long, with Jaskier being so exquisite and so near, but he would do things on Jaskier's terms or not at all. 

"Did you do as I said?" 

The first words from Jaskier's mouth as soon as they were alone were not what he'd expected, until he remembered the note. His cock responded to the question with even more enthusiasm than it had to the note. 

"Why don't you see for yourself?" 

"I'd rather not," Jaskier demurred. "I do not want to be in the heat of the moment and find out you didn't wash your—"

"You absolute fool, I washed everywhere." 

He could not hold himself back then. He kissed Jaskier. It was a bit rough, though he tried to be gentle. Jaskier did not seem to mind, pulling Geralt's hand away from his face and guiding him into a better position. 

Geralt allowed Jaskier to take over, but their progress toward the bed was steady. 

"Now, I've put some thought into this," Jaskier said, when they broke apart. "I have a few instructions. I want you to fuck me—" 

Geralt cut him off again with a kiss. That was all the instruction he needed, and Jaskier seemed to have no objections. It was good to know they had the same priorities. 

The rest was a blur. Geralt tired of making their slow way to the bed, so he picked up Jaskier. 

"Mm, if you could do that, why didn't you do that from the beginning?" 

Geralt didn't answer him. He was too frustrated by the number of buttons on Jaskier's doublet. Who had invented the damned things? Maybe Jaskier would start undoing them himself if he were on the bed. 

He dumped him rather unceremoniously, which seemed to be what he wanted, for he pulled Geralt immediately down on top of him. 

"Now," he said. "The fucking."

The way he talked about it like that only served to make Geralt harder. "Where?" 

"Nightstand." Jaskier smiled. "On top of it. Or did your witcher vision miss it?" 

"My witcher vis—" He shook his head. There was no need to correct Jaskier that whatever he had decided _witcher vision_ was didn't work to find jars of lubricant when all one's senses were focused elsewhere. 

Namely on Jaskier's hips beneath him wriggling out of his trousers. Geralt could have helped him, but instead decided to kiss him again, relishing the noise Jaskier made as he allowed his hand to creep up under Jaskier's shirt, at last meeting bare skin. 

Jaskier had a variety of noises to make, Geralt found, if he touched different parts of him. There was a good one when his hand moved over Jaskier's stomach, another good one when he found a nipple to tweak. 

"Come on," Jaskier said. "You've got too many clothes on you. As much as I like the looks of them, I want to see what's under here."

Geralt allowed this, for he liked Jaskier's enthusiasm as he unbuttoned his shirt and peeled off his trousers. 

"Oh yes," Jaskier murmured as he palmed Geralt's cock. "This is a nice reward indeed."

"Reward for what?" 

Jaskier gave him a quick kiss. "Putting up with you." 

"Is it really that much of a hardship?" 

"It can get quite tiring." Jaskier looped his arms around Geralt's neck and pulled himself closer so he was practically in Geralt's lap. "Mr. Grumpy-Witcher-Who-Says-He-Doesn't-Care-To-Disguise-The-Fact-That-He-Does-Care-Rather-A-Lot-Actually."

"That's a mouthful."

"It sure is." Jaskier flopped back onto the bed invitingly. "Now, do something to make me shut up." 

Geralt did not have to be told twice; he did not have to give it any further thought. How maddening that just days ago, he would have tried to send Jaskier away again. He still could not entirely dismiss that little voice (it was actually a rather loud voice) in the back of his mind that told him he was putting Jaskier in obvious danger, that Jaskier did not deserve to be shackled to him for the rest of his very short mortal life. 

"You're thinking again. I can tell." Jaskier's fingertips ghosted over his brow. "No thinking. Just fucking." 

Geralt opened his mouth to object, but decided, at least for the moment, to actually do as Jaskier said. He did no more thinking, only fucking.

**

Geralt had not meant to fall asleep after sex. As soon as they'd both climaxed, his instinct to flee ought to have kicked in. Here was Jaskier who, in the privacy of his own mind, he could now admit he cared about very much. And here they were, having done this thing that made it rather obvious. 

"This is nice, isn't it?" Jaskier purred in his ear. Geralt gave an involuntary shiver. 

"Ooh. Still sensitive." Jaskier blew in his ear, which was even worse. "This is a witcher thing, I expect?"

"It's a witcher thing." Geralt's vision cleared a moment later, but he could still feel the tingling on his skin, hyperaware of every bit of Jaskier that was touching him and the gentle breeze that blew in through the window. 

"Well, we'll have to see what we can do with that next time."

"Jaskier." Better to clear things up now, that there could not be a next time. This had been bad enough; the next day, they would part ways and— 

"Oh, don't start." Jaskier rolled on top of him, fixing his gaze firmly on Geralt. "I know what you're thinking. I don't have to be a witcher to smell your sweat and read your mind or whatever it is."

"We can't do that." 

Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. "I know what you're thinking," he repeated. "And I wanted to tell you you're being ridiculous. I want you. I want to be here. I'm capable of deciding that for myself, thank you very much." 

"And what about what I want?" 

"I know what you want." Jaskier stroked his face. His touch was impossibly gentle. Geralt fought not to shiver again. "You may not be prepared to admit it, but you know, too, don't you?"

There was nothing else to say. "Yes." 

"Good, then." Jaskier settled back next to him, snuggled into his side. "Where are we going tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow—" Geralt thought perhaps it was best not to finish that. "I don't know. Wherever there's work." 

"Sounds wonderful. Where there's work for you, there's work for me." He paused. "Do try and kill something more poetic next time, though, would you? I can't find any rhymes for zeugl." 

"I'll try," was all Geralt could say. 

And he would.


End file.
